


le reveil

by alphaqueer



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaqueer/pseuds/alphaqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine being punched awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	le reveil

It feels like a fire at first, a conflagration all over his skin, and then the ocean rushes into his ears painfully and smothers him away in surf and waves. He opens his eyes and the light of a thousand suns presses back at him, making him flinch and take cover under the flames again. He notes, however, they are not flames, but sheets. He’s in bed, in his room, beginning to choke on the taste and smell of his own sweat and squalor. He admonishes himself silently, promising to clean this room as soon as he figures all of this chaos out.

The sun is barely cresting the edge of the horizon, he sees from his window, and yet every time his sight lands on anything for too long, it pains him. He shields his eyes with on hand and squints in the twilight. He brushes the sheets off of him, removes his boxers too, anything and everything to control the heat. Standing in the centre of his room, ankle deep in dirty clothes, protein bar wrappers, lacrosse gear, he remains still, steadying his breath, bringing his arms to his side.

His wrist presses the side of his body and stings harshly. No, it stings mightily, with such force that he has to supress the urge to punch the wall to distract him. He growls – he _growls_ – and seethes through the pain, his vision glowing amber in agony. His head is a mess, awash with shriek of birds awake outside and the ebb and flow of the ocean miles away and the rhythmic beating of … his mother’s and brother’s hearts. The slow beats coming from the other two rooms is all he focuses on, allowing the pain to subside and trying to get a grip on all these new sensations.

He looks down and sees the bite, so small and minute, on his left wrist. The skin around the mark has gone from tawny for deep purple. The bite itself is delicate and looks like barely broke the skin, except dried blood is crusted in an almost circle around the mark. He looks back to his sheets and sees no blood stain. Curious.

Under the hearts of his family and over the roar of the sea and through the call and cry of nature, he hears it. The slow crawl of a Pontiac, its engine humming mutely, tells him it is coming to a stop outside his house. Against everything, he puts on a pair of sweats that are at his feet and makes his way to the front door downstairs. Once there, he looks out of the side window and sees him.

“Come here,” Derek says swoftly from the car and his voice travels all the way to Danny’s ears. Danny feels a rush of adrenaline, as well as a slowly-mounting hunger, as he opens the door. However, once on the threshold, he hesitates. “We need to talk.” Derek persists, noticing Danny’s wariness.

“Where were you last night?” Danny asks, a little hurt, a lot pissed.

Derek smiles minutely. Not a grin or a smirk, but a saccharine sweet smile that Danny thinks could be condescending. “You don’t remember?” Derek asks. Danny shakes his head in dissent. “Who do you think washed you up and put you to bed?”


End file.
